Reader. Writer. Romantic.

I’ve always known that I should never make someone as a priority when all I am to them is an option. It really hurts me because you said that honesty and loyalty are the most important things to you. And as much as I want to believe that, I know that can’t be true. Because there is no one in the world who is so busy that they won’t make time for those they love, there is no one in the world who won’t make time to spend with friends. And sure it’s easy to say that I should cut him out of my life, to choose to let him go, life is hardly ever so clear cut, life is hardly ever so easy.

A part of me loves the things that he is, the things that he does, and the man that he’s grown into. A part of me knows that I will keep loving him even when the walls come crumbling down around me with no hope of escape. I would die and give my life so that he could live, so that he could be happy and what crushes me most is that I’m learning that he’s not the kind of man who would do the same.

You can lie to me and maybe I’m naive for believing you, but you better be damn sure I never find out what you’ve done. I will always believe in the best in people even when I deal with the worst of them on a daily basis. I refuse to let this world harden me. For though I appear tough and independent, though I appear to be able to hold my own and be happy and smile and joke, inside, I am constantly falling apart, I am constantly giving up my own happiness to see you smile.

Sure I didn’t have the worst childhood in the world, but I didn’t have the best. So many things were kept from me and I didn’t learn of love until too late. Each time I’ve fallen in love, I’ve heard the words “that’s nice” or even a callous laugh. I have never been told that I’m beautiful or have done a good job. All I know is that which I cannot do, that I’m useless and good for nothing. And though I prove myself time and time again, capable of such great things, with a self-esteem so low, with a self worth that is non-existent, I cannot survive for much longer. Everyday I can feel a bit of my sanity slipping away. I can pretend that I’m happy and that I’m confident, but the truth is, is that I’m not all that. I can pretend so well that sometimes I fool myself into thinking that I’m alright, when in actuality I am not. Maybe I can fool the world around me, but I know the demons that lie within me. They will never die. Always fueled by self hatred and depreciation.

I won’t go on waiting for a future that doesn’t exist. I never believed that I would fall in love. Never believed that there is someone out there for me. Who could ever want someone as broken and scarred as me? The romantic in me hopes, but the realist tells me not to because it knows, it knows how to spare me the pain. But the romantic always wins, there’s always hope. And from my hope I’ve grown to be quite the masochist. Without pain, I don’t know how to feel anymore. Without pain, there’s no pleasure. I hurt myself to produce the best literature I have ever written. My best poetry especially is born of the excruciating anguish, but it is also born of extreme love. I will always welcome this pain.

So in other words, I never want to stop feeling these emotions. I never want this pain of hoping for a future that doesn’t exist to end. I will fight to my dying breath with words that are the songs of my soul.